


Transatlanticism

by tabulaxrasa



Category: Comics RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Challenge fic, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, sex in a tent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa/pseuds/tabulaxrasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard's a comic book writer living in London. Frank works for a record label and has a band in New York. The problem with meeting in the middle is there's a whacking great ocean there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transatlanticism

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to tuesdaysgone for the beta and terribly helpful suggestions and general talking me off a ledge. <33333 Thank you so much to my mixer madguru, for creating such a great mix that a story jumped right out at me and I just HAD to write it. It was incredibly helpful and inspiring while writing, too! And thank you to the mods for running this brilliant challenge. Well done, all around!

Prologue: Christmas

Frank read the email about ten times, over and over, until it had gone from not-making-sense to totally clear and irrevocable and back to disjointed phrases, some of which leapt off the screen and stuck in his mind like straw driven into a tree by a tornado.

 _Dramatic much, Iero?_ He snorted at himself, then glanced around, but no one else was paying him any attention.

“Gonna grab a smoke,” he muttered. He just needed to _breathe_ for a minute, and yes, he was well aware of the irony, thanks.

Frank pushed up the window as far as it would go— and that finally drew some attention, as people complained about the cold. Frank climbed through the window and tugged it shut behind him. Shit, he should have grabbed his jacket. It really was cold. He was gonna get sick. Frank really didn’t give a shit.

Frank sat down on the freezing metal of the fire escape, his back to the sooty brick of the building, and pulled out the crumpled cigarette pack. Last one. That felt right, somehow, nicely symbolic. Frank lit up, trying to keep his mind blank, just focusing on the click of the lighter— it took a few tries to get the flame, this one was almost out of fuel— but it finally shot up and the end caught. 

Frank took a deep breath, holding the smoke in his lungs for several seconds before letting it out. And again. Then he grinned.

Glastonbury. Motherfucking _Glastonbury._ Frank’s not-that-shitty-but-still-not-awesome tiny New Jersey band at _motherfucking Glastonbury._

Frank forced himself to take his time finishing his smoke, since it was his last one and all. After he finally stubbed it out on the grate beneath him, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

_Practice space tonite,_ he typed. _Drop everything, emergency. Do it!!!_ Then he sent it to Mikey and Ray, cackling. 

He stayed out on the fire escape after he sent it, just watching the city beneath rush around. People on their endless fucking Christmas shopping, something that was probably a drug deal going on in the alley beneath him, taxis honking at each other on the street.

Frank got caught up watching a really cute little terrier mix make her way down the street on her patient owner’s leash, so he jumped pretty high at the pounding on the window behind him.

He turned around and grinned at Mikey. “Yeah?”

“Fuck you,” he lipread clearly through the window. Frank cackled again. If Mikey was this worked up, Ray must be shitting himself.

Frank pushed the window up, because obviously Mikey was never going to do it. “What’s up, kid?”

“The fuck is this?” Mikey held out his phone at Frank, but the screen had gone dark. Mikey frowned and poked at it while Frank cracked up.

“You know what I mean,” Mikey grumbled. “This.” Now Frank could see his text from earlier.

“It means we all need to meet at the practice space tonight,” Frank said, cool as a cucumber popsicle. 

Mikey glared at him, which on Mikey was a little line appearing on his forehead. “Why, asshole?”

Frank grinned and stumbled to his feet. “Band announcement. With the band. You don’t want Ray to be sad, right? Now get out of my way, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

Mikey grumbled but backed up and Frank jumped down. The heating in their old Alphabet City building was for shit, but it felt toasty after being outside. Frank grinned and patted Mikey on the head.

“Did you manage to get in touch with those Die Trying fuckers?”

“Yeah,” Mikey said, reluctantly slipping back to business. “Their van broke down in Virginia. I guess they had to walk 10 miles in the snow or something.”

“Uphill both ways?” Frank grinned.

 

Mikey was still glaring at him by the time they were in their practice space. They used one of the label’s, because _duh_ , so it was really just a walk downstairs and then waiting for Ray.

Ray had rushed over as soon as he could, that was obvious. He’d even run from the subway, because he burst into the studio, out of breath and wrestling with his jacket.

“What’s up?” Ray asked, looking between Frank and Mikey. “What’s going on?”

Mikey glared at Frank. “Now will you fucking tell us?”

Frank grinned, and looked back and forth at them. They were starting to relax a little, since Frank was grinning, but they seemed suspicious still. Frank would be hurt, if he didn’t know he was such a little shit.

“Ahem,” Frank pretended to clear his throat, then had to _actually_ clear his throat— fucking cigarettes— while he picked up his laptop. He opened it and held it out in front of him. “This is an email I got today,” he said, and proceeded to read to them that New London Fire was invited to perform at Glastonbury next year.

They had a moment, then, and Frank’s laptop almost bit the dust between all the jumping and shouting and hugging, but Ray rescued it at the last minute, lovingly closing it and setting it carefully on a chair.

“Motherfucking Glastonbury!” Mikey shouted and they all started grinning all over again.

“Frank,” Ray was frowning, and that was no good. “Frank, we don’t have a drummer.”

Their problems finding and keeping drummers had kind of become legend around Black Fable records, but Frank shrugged. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “We just need a touring drummer. We’ll start looking now— we shouldn’t have too much trouble finding someone to play with us at motherfucking Glastonbury, you know?”

Ray seemed to feel better after that. “Come on,” Frank threw an arm around each of them. “It is time for some fucking beers.”

* * *

It was cold and it was dark, and City workers were fucking terrifying. Whose idea had this pub been, again?

Gerard lit his cigarette and tried to find a place to stand where he wouldn’t be buffeted by anyone. He pulled his sleeves up over his hands and smoked as fast as he could.

He just really, really needed a cigarette after that meeting. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and when he checked it it said _Get your arse in here!_

Gerard grinned and took a few last defiant drags, then crushed the butt on the windowsill next to him.

The pub was packed, since it was barely 5:30, but it was warm, and the masses were a cheerful kind of packed. Of course, Gerard couldn’t see through the crowd.

“Oy! Gerard WAY! Over here!” That was possibly Gerard’s second favorite voice in the world, and a few seconds later he caught sight of Grant standing on a bench to wave at him.

Giggling and shaking his head, Gerard pushed through the crowd, none of whom cared about the Scotsman standing on his seat yelling. They’d really probably seen it before.

He was hailed, and mocked, as soon as he got in earshot. “Any excuse to make a row, that’s Grant,” Vince said, grinning.

Gerard kissed Kristan and squeezed on the bench with Cameron and Vince. ”We couldn’t get a bigger table?”

“Silly me,” Grant said. “I forgot this was the pub that takes reservations.”

Gerard stuck his tongue out and Cameron put an arm around him and Vince. “We’re all friends here,” he drawled. Vince was giggling into his pint and Grant beamed beatifically at them. 

“There’s a good harem,” Grant said. 

“Eat these chips for me,” Kristan said to Gerard, pushing the plate across the table at him. “And we got you a Ribena.”

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re my favorite. You’re the best one here.”

“I know,” she said smoothly, and no one dared deny it. 

“I tried to order you fish fingers and custard,” Grant protested. “But they said they didn’t have it and to stop asking.”

Gerard laughed, slumping down in his seat, and Cameron nudged Gerard’s hat over his face until Gerard took it off. “Oh man,” Gerard sighed. “I am so glad you guys are here. I could not handle fucking DC end of the year meetings without you.”

“Banned!” Vince shouted.

“Banned,” Grant agreed. “No shop talk. All we’ve talked about for ten fucking hours is fucking DC and fucking sales numbers and fucking Dan fucking—”

“Banned!” Vince shouted again, and made to toss what was left of his pint at Grant.

Grant didn’t blink, though. “As if you’d waste beer. But no, you’re right, no fucking shop talk.”

“I’ll support that,” Gerard said, tilting his head to the side to crack his neck. 

“After all, it could be worse,” Grant paused, eyes twinkling. “We could be working for Marvel.”

They toasted that and Vince drained his pint, slapping it down with a hollow thunk. “And that’s the first down. And now,” he leaned over Cameron to grin at Gerard. “Your shout, Yank.”

Everyone else started draining their glasses, so Gerard rolled his eyes, shoved Cameron off him, and got up to fight his way to the bar. Face-to-face meetings were slow death and the Christmas season in London was kind of a brute force experience, but there was still no where else he’d rather be.

 

Things were quite a bit more mellow hours later, once the after work crowd had thinned out. Gerard was helping himself to another smoke outside the pub when Kristan sneaked up and put her arm through his.

“You’re coming to us for Christmas, aren’t you now?” Coming from Kristan, this was essentially an order.

“You’re not going home, right?” Grant came up readjusting his scarf from where Vince had been pulling on it. “It’s too late to get tickets now, surely?”

Gerard used the hand holding the cigarette to scratch his head under his wool hat, because Kristan still had hold of the other one. “Yeah,” he said. “I kind of...worked through that deadline this year, I guess.” He hadn’t even noticed Thanksgiving this year until it had passed. 

“Oh, lamb,” Kristan said. “Then it’s settled, yeah? Whenever you want to come up, then. The 23rd? 22nd? Earlier’s fine.”

“Come now,” Grant grinned. “We don’t mind.”

“We still have meetings tomorrow,” Gerard pointed out reluctantly.

“Bollocks,” Grant said. “And that’s what it’ll be, too.”

They shared a moment of silent commiseration, and then Kristan squeezed Gerard’s arm and let go, reaching for her husband’s hand instead. “Well, you’re coming for Christmas,” she said. “And we’ll see you tomorrow, my love.”

“See you tomorrow,” he bid them good night, Grant and Kristan heading for their hotel, and Gerard for the bus. He sat up top, in the back, bouncing through the dark streets in that weirdly hallucinatory light London buses had. The top deck was fairly empty because the tube was still running, but Gerard often preferred the bus, because secretly he still thrilled over riding a double decker, even after a couple years living in London and more falls down the stairs than he cared to admit to.

He should really try and Skype Mikey when he got home, break the news that he wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas. Gerard just had a lot of work and he couldn’t write at home— too many people he was supposed to visit, especially at the holidays. No, Scotland was the better choice, he thought. Grant and Kristan would let him work whenever he needed to, and they could geek out over the _Doctor Who_ Christmas Special together, and pull crackers, and it would be much better than going home.

 

“Gerard!” Mikey sounded so happy, Gerard felt another wave of guilt about not coming home.

“Hey, Mikey. What’s up?”

“Gee, oh man. Like, it’s so cool!”

“What is?” Was Alicia pregnant? That _would_ be cool.

Mikey grinned. “We’re playing Glastonbury!”

“You and Alicia?”

Mikey laughed. “What? No, dude. New London Fire! My _band._ ”

“Oh, right. Wait— really?” Gerard grinned. “Mikey, that’s great! I didn’t know you guys were so...serious about this band, I guess.”

“I really like these guys, Gee. A lot. We just feel... It’s just good up there, you know?” Mikey looked really happy, like you were supposed to feel about Christmas, all lit up inside.

Gerard didn’t know, exactly. Even though comics were collaborative, his teammates were usually on the other side of the world.

The last time he’d been in a band had been with Mikey. It felt...weird, that Mikey was in a band without him. Gerard _knew_ that Mikey was in a band, but he just hadn’t been thinking of it as a real band, a successful band. Gerard was happy for him, of course, but felt kind of left behind. Which was fucking bullshit, and Gerard knew it, because he was the one who had left.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Seriously, that’s amazing. My little brother playing Glastonbury!”

“Right? Crazy.”

Mikey looked so happy Gerard almost didn’t tell him about Christmas, but then he figured maybe the Glastonbury-high would carry him through it. Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much.

“So, Mikey...about Christmas...”

Mikey stopped smiling. “You’re not coming home, are you?”

Gerard scratched the back of his head. “Last year was just really crazy and it took me forever to recover and this year we really can’t be late on the scripts and I’m already kind of behind and...”

Mikey stared at him, like the screens and internet and ocean between them weren’t really there. “And you forgot to buy tickets?”

Gerard bit his lip. Mikey knew him. 

Mikey sighed. “Tell me you’re not just spending Christmas alone.”

“Totally not! I’m going up to Grant and Kristan’s.”

Mikey relaxed. “Well, that’s okay, I guess.” Then he smiled at Gerard, out of the side of his mouth, barely there. “Dude,” he said. “You’re spending Christmas with _Grant Morrison._ ” 

“I know!” Gerard squeaked. Sometimes, even he couldn’t believe this was his life. He was so glad Mikey got it. Of course he did, he was _Mikey._ “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he smiled.

Mikey rolled his eyes at him, and they were definitely okay.

* * *

PART 1

“Fine, fine,” Frank grumbled. “Everyone’s met Mikey’s brother but me.”

“I haven’t,” said Matt, the label intern who was coming along to be their roadie.

“You don’t count,” Frank muttered. Ray smacked him on the back of the head.

“You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” Ray said. “I can’t help it if we grew up in the same neighborhood. Why do you care so much anyway?”

“I don’t care!” Frank said, much too quickly for sincerity. “I just think it’s weird, that’s all.”

Mikey shrugged. “He almost never comes home.”

“Man,” Frank looked up from his carefully tabbed and color-coordinated notebook. Someone had to run this band, and he felt stupid paying someone to do it when it was kind of his job already. “I can’t imagine going so far, like, permanently. I’d miss Jersey too much.”

“We all know,” Mikey rolled his eyes. “How many NJ tattoos do you have now?”

Frank stuck his tongue out. “You’re such a killjoy.” Mikey was probably just bummed Alicia couldn’t get the time off work to come with them.

An announcement came over the loudspeaker, just loud and clear enough to be understood if you listened carefully. “That’s us!” Frank bounced in excitement, and began shoving his shit back in his carry-on.

“About time.” James Dewees, who they’d managed to bribe to fill in on drums for them, stood up and stretched. “JFK is fucking creepy at night.”

Frank made sure everyone had their boarding pass and hadn’t accidentally ripped it or thrown it away, and then made sure he had his boarding pass. They all had big carry-ons with most of their shit inside so they could check their gear without going totally broke. Not that going totally broke wouldn’t have been worth it, but the scramble for funding had been a pain in the ass. Frank was just going to worry about all their shit until it was back in his hands. In _England._

He ruffled Ray’s hair and shoved into Mikey, just short of hard enough to send him sprawling. “I am NOT sitting next to him,” Ray said.

 

The flight was looooooong and Frank couldn’t sleep and Mikey slept like the whole time, that bastard. Frank was feeling woozy and gritty-eyed by the time they landed. 

He perked up a little when the customs officer did a double take when Frank gave the reason for his visit as “playing Glastonbury.”

Mikey was really excited, and really impatient, while they gathered all their gear on trolleys and navigated the duty-free shops. Outside the big swinging door was a barricaded area with a massive crowd of people around it.

“Uh...” Ray said. 

“How are we going to find your brother in this?” Frank answered.

Mikey was peering around, then pointed to the left. “Costa Coffee,” he said. Then he took off and squeezed through a tiny gap that clearly only sticks like Mikey who'd left their luggage behind for their friends to carry could get through.

With all the trolleys the rest of them had to go way around. By the time they got out, Mikey was coming back to meet them, wrapped around a guy that could only be his brother.

Frank hung back while Ray said hello. “And this,” Mikey said, “is our fearless leader and screamer-in-chief, Frank Iero.”

“It’s really nice to meet you at last!” Gerard said, and smiled. Which seemed like it would be obvious, but it felt like Gerard’s smile was some kind of revelation.

“Um,” said Frank. “Hi.”

And then Mikey introduced James and Matt like nothing had happened. And all right, in retrospect, maybe nothing _had_ happened. Or at least, Frank couldn’t say exactly what he thought had happened. Frank shook his head a little. Jet lag.

 

Frank was going to go on blaming the jet lag for why it took so long to put it together— all of the train and taxi rides, and checking into the hotel, and until they were squeezed around a table in some kind of pub and had ordered tapas.

Gerard and Mikey had been talking the whole time, about the flight and the band— and Gerard’s job, which finally trickled into Frank’s poor confused brain.

“Wait!” he said. “You’re _Gerard Way?_ Like, _The Umbrella Academy_ Gerard Way?”

Frank ignored everyone laughing at him, and Mikey’s glare, because Gerard was biting his lip and looking pleased and a little embarrassed. “Yeah,” he said. “Did you read it?”

“Dude,” Frank said, and told him all about it. Okay, maybe it was a little repetitive to tell someone about their own work, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind. He seemed excited, actually, and egged Frank on, and then they talked about the Batman book Gerard was writing now. After a while Mikey and Gerard switched seats so Frank and Gerard could continue their epic conversation without talking over him.

They talked all through eating whatever it was, and then Frank noticed it was getting more and more difficult to form words correctly. His head was spinning, and not from the beer.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah,” Frank said, giving his head a shake to try and wake himself up. “Just...”

“Did you get any sleep on the plane?” There was a smile playing around Gerard’s mouth, but it was sympathetic.

“No,” Frank admitted, rubbing his eyes hard. “I’m starting to feel floaty.”

“Maybe we should take you back to the hotel, let you have a nap.” Gerard’s voice sounded really close to his ear, then far away again, as Gerard spoke to the rest of the table.

“Mikey said we shouldn’t take naps,” Frank protested.

“Don’t listen to Mikey.” Gerard’s voice was warm in his ear again.

Frank felt like he was a couple minutes behind everyone and everything. He put down whatever money Gerard told him to, and let Ray steer him outside with his large hands heavy on Frank’s shoulders.

“I’ve totally stayed up longer than this before,” Frank protested. 

“Travel is different,” Gerard said, authoritative. “It fucks you up in a different way... Aw, fuck, I hate this shit.”

Frank eventually figured out that Gerard meant the weather. It wasn’t really rain, just heavy drizzle, but in minutes he was considerably wet.

The hotel wasn’t far, though, and after a few trippy blocks, Frank was in the lobby of the hotel. Mikey pressed the key card into his hand. “Go take a nap.”

Frank’s wandering gaze landed on Gerard. His wet hair was stuck to his face in dark strands and he grinned when Frank looked at him. “I’ll see you later, Frank,” he said. “Get some rest. But set an alarm. If you sleep for more than two hours, you’re fucked.” Frank just stared at him.

Someone pushed Frank toward the elevator. “Come on,” Matt said. “I want a nap, too.” Matt was laughing at him. Frank felt stupid, and tried to figure out what he’d been doing wrong.

But then the elevator announced their floor in its polite British female voice and they stumbled out and started hunting for their rooms.

 

Frank slept through the alarm, of course, and didn’t wake up until Mikey banged the door open.

“Sorry,” Mikey said, smirking a little. “You still asleep?”

“You suck,” Frank croaked. He wiped the drool off his face and rolled upright, looking like the most awkward seal imaginable, so of course that was when Gerard walked into the room.

“Oh!” Gerard blinked at Frank with his big Disney princess eyes. “Sorry— were you still asleep?”

“I’m just gonna—” Frank had to clear his throat to even get that out, and then he bolted for the bathroom. In the mirror, he could see his hair sticking up on one side and a bright red pillow crease clear across his face. “Fuck your life,” he said to his reflection.

 

Mikey reminded them he was going to stay with Gerard when they were all heading out for coffee. It would give everyone else more space in the hotel, and Frank had known that before, of course, but he still felt a sharp spike of jealousy.

It was weird and he tried to ignore it. Maybe Gerard would invite them all over. Frank really only cared about his _own_ invitation, though. Gerard had been teasing him about upcoming story lines and there were some things Frank would love to get a look at. But he wasn’t just going to invite himself over. First, because his mom would somehow find out and nag him, and second, he didn’t want Mikey to think Frank was hitting on his brother. Mikey could be a very protective dude.

They did coffee, and dinner, and Frank tried not to hog Gerard. Everyone wanted embarrassing stories about Mikey and Frank wasn’t the only one who read comics, but he still felt impatient and annoyed with everyone else. Right up until he’d catch Gerard’s eyes, anyway. Gerard’s look was always warm and there was always a smile in it somewhere, and Frank would feel buzzed up and good until someone took Gerard’s attention off him.

Mikey and Gerard took off for brother bonding time after dinner, and that was good and right, Frank had to admit. They hadn’t seen each other in like a year, of course they wanted time to catch up alone.

So Frank hung off Ray and jumped all over James and Matt until even Matt was trying to shove him out into traffic.

* * *

They had to get up at some ungodly, obscene, unheard-of hour of the morning to head out to Glastonbury. It was so early the tube was barely open. Gerard wasn’t sure he’d ever actually been up this early before.

“Shut up,” Mikey said. “It’s like, fucking... I don’t even know o’clock for me.”

They were crammed on the tube with all of their shit. Or at least most of it. The plan was to rent a van, which Gerard and Mikey were now going to pick up. Then they’d swing by the hotel and pick up the rest of the band and equipment.

“Man,” Gerard said, settling his head on Mikey’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re playing Glastonbury. I’m so proud of you.”

“Me neither,” Mikey said. “I hope I don’t throw up.”

“I can’t believe you’re playing Glastonbury in two days,” Gerard said. “Isn’t this cutting it kind of close?”

Mikey shrugged. “We figured Frank would get sick on the plane. So we hoped we’d play before the germs had time to take him out.”

“Huh,” Gerard said. “Makes sense.” And then there was a charged silence, just like there had been every time Frank came up. Gerard wasn’t going to address it, although he knew Mikey was waiting for him to ask about Frank. Gerard was going to let him wait.

 

Gerard was now a man with a van. And a plan, and was off to get a band.

“Oh my God you are such a dork,” Mikey rolled his eyes. So Gerard didn’t repeat it when Frank was in the van, even though he really wanted to. Even though they had to sit on the M25 for approximately a million hours, because it was Wednesday.

“Do you miss having a car?” Frank was leaning between the front seats, and Gerard could almost feel Frank’s hand brushing his shoulder. 

“Not most of the time,” Gerard gestured at the traffic around them. “I don’t ever miss it in London. Sometimes when I’m going someplace else, and the trains are expensive and packed. That doesn’t happen enough for me to actually buy a car, though.”

Traffic on the M4 was still pretty awful. “Is everyone in the world going to Glastonbury?” Frank asked, leaning forward again.

“Yep,” Gerard said grimly.

After they stopped for lunch at a rest stop, Frank took over Mikey’s seat, riding shotgun. Mikey was a terrible navigator, but Gerard felt that having Frank next to him only increased their chances of ending up in Wales.

Frank chatted cheerfully about how weird it was to be on this side of the car and not be driving. He told Gerard about the other bands he’d been in, the shitty places they’d played, how proud of him his dad and grandpa were.

Gerard actually managed to make the turn-off, and they joined the near-parade of cars. They had special instructions to follow as “talent” though, a special entrance and parking lot. Frank had to hand over passes and letters and they had to show their passports.

Once they got waved through, Gerard heard the rest of the guys cheering and high-fiving in the back, and exchanged a grin with Frank. “I think I like being with the band,” Gerard said. Frank looked Gerard up and down very deliberately, and Gerard kept his eyes on the dirt road and told himself not to be ridiculous.

 

The awesome acts got trailers with electricity and running water, but New London Fire had to bring their own tents and set them up in a campground. It wasn’t an open festival campground, but it was still way more camping than Gerard had done in pretty much ever.

It took them a long time to get the tents set up, but then they went to go look at the stage they’d be playing and maybe find some food and coffee. Glastonbury was really fucking big, and it took the rest of the day just to walk around. And there were relatively few people; the show didn’t even start until tomorrow.

Everyone else started passing out pretty early from jet lag. Gerard didn’t mind. He hung out outside for a while, smoking and watching people around their campfires. Then he crawled into the tent he was sharing with Mikey.

Mikey rolled over to face him and they whispered about shit for a while, nothing important, just glad to be back together.

 

They had a soundcheck on Thursday and Gerard, who wanted to be able to say he was “with the band” as often as possible, went with them. It was actually pretty boring, until Frank started talking to him on the mic.

“Heyyyy, Gerard Way,” Frank said, on the mic, and bloody buggering hell, it was weird to hear his name so loud. “Gerard Way, get me some coffee,” Frank said. “You’re our coffee boy!”

Gerard flipped him off, grinning.

Frank grinned back. “Gerard Gerard Gerard,” he sang, almost in time with the song the rest of the band were diligently rehearsing. “Come onnnnn. I know you want some.”

Well, if he was going to go and mention it like that...

“Want some what?” Gerard shouted, under the apprehension that Frank couldn’t hear him.

But Frank leered, hanging off his mic stand, and shouted “Depends on what’s on offer!”

Mikey was definitely glaring at both of them.

“I’m going to get coffee,” Gerard shouted back, standing up and trying, no doubt in vain, to brush grass and dirt off his ass. “For ME!”

Frank stuck his tongue out and abruptly starting screaming into his mic. Maybe he remembered they were supposed to be rehearsing or whatever. Gerard hurried off, trying to convince himself no one was looking at him.

 

Gerard managed to survive right up until 11 am on Friday morning, which was when New London Fire were playing, opening the Other Stage. 

He’d hugged Mikey about twenty times before letting him get his guitar. Gerard stood on the side of the stage, trying to stay out of everyone’s way. He felt sort of jealous, actually, as he watched Mikey and Frank and Ray and James’s group hug.

But then Frank ran out onto the stage, swinging his guitar around, and he screamed into the mic “Glastonbury! We’re New London Fire! Hang on to your pants!”

Gerard giggled, because he didn’t think anyone had warned Frank that “pants” meant something a little different. But the crowd responded with some enthusiasm to the mention of pants, predictably, and then they started playing.

Gerard had expected to watch Mikey the whole time, but Frank... Frank was just tearing up the stage. The mic was practically in his mouth, and how did he get so sweaty so fast? Whenever Frank wasn’t singing he was spinning around, thrashing, and half the time he was on his back, even when he was singing. Or screaming. He was upside-down at one point, even, and he wrapped himself up in his microphone cord and that just wasn’t _fair_ , okay, it was giving Gerard all these ideas he didn’t know what to do with.

Frank was just really into it. And Gerard, apparently, was really into him.

 

It was a long time before Gerard got to say anything to Frank. People wanted to talk to him, and Gerard wanted to talk to Mikey anyway, and they were putting their backstage passes to good use, watching the other acts.

But Gerard finally found himself sitting between Frank and Mikey on the floor, watching The motherfucking Killers. Gerard leaned over, almost but not quite touching Frank’s shoulder. “You were fucking excellent,” he said.

Frank grinned at him, quick and bright and huge. “Yeah? You really liked it?”

Gerard nodded. “You were really...great,” he said, and then winced, because seriously, wasn’t he a writer for a living? “Really passionate,” Gerard corrected. 

This time, when Frank grinned at him, it was slow, and there was something in his eyes that made something warm curl in Gerard’s stomach. But then the Killers crashed into the chorus of “Mr. Brightside” and there were rules about singing along with that, so that was the end of the conversation. For now.

* * *

Frank was having a fucking amazing time. On Friday night they’d hung out with the fucking _Foo Fighters_ and Frank still couldn’t believe that in real life Dave Grohl knew his name. He’d been afraid that he would wake up and he’d still be 13 in his bed at his mom’s house, but on Saturday morning it turned out even his brain couldn’t confuse his old bed with sleeping on the ground in a tent. It warmed up during the day but it was fucking cold at night.

Saturday consisted of more awesome backstage hangs, and there was actually decent food, and also there was this thing where Gerard was always right there. And judging from the looks he was giving Frank, he was interested. Frank was _definitely_ interested, sorry Mikey, and if something didn’t happen soon... Well, Frank would not be held responsible for his actions.

 

And then, just like that, it was late on Saturday night and they were alone. They were out at one of the clubs, drinking out of plastic cups, while some serious Eurotechno throbbed around them. The lights were enough to give someone an epileptic fit. One minute, Matt had been hanging with them, goggle-eyed, and the next he’d taken off. They waited for a while, swaying in time to the music, until finally Frank leaned over to shout in Gerard’s ear. “I don’t think he’s coming back!”

“Lucky him.” Gerard’s voice was low and dirty, even though he had to be shouting. It hit Frank like a jolt sizzling down his nerves and making things warm and tingly. 

“Wanna dance?” Frank said.

Gerard nodded, and they gave up on their drinks and slid toward the middle of the room, though they didn’t bother trying to push into the crowd. The dancing tribe was a mass of people in every configuration and all kinds of numbers. A girl with black lipstick and punk hair was sliding her hands under the shirt of the girl in pink rain boots she was dancing with, and nearby a large crowd of hippies were rubbing together in an E-induced haze.

And then Gerard’s hands were on his hips and Frank stopped paying attention to anything else. Gerard wasn’t a much better dancer than Frank but he did things with his hips that had Frank thinking about other things Gerard could do with his hips. Things Frank was really, really interested in experiencing.

He grabbed onto Gerard’s shoulder, letting his fingers dig in hard. Gerard’s fingers tightened in response and he ground their hips together, while the light and music pulsed around them.

Someone shoved into Frank from behind and he was so distracted his lost his footing and fell into Gerard, who caught him and put him back on his feet, mostly. Frank wasn’t even pissed off, because rubbing all over Gerard was that nice. And Gerard was grinning, anyway.

Frank grinned back, rubbing a hand over Gerard’s chest. “So..?” he didn’t even try to say it, just mouthed the word. And maybe kept his mouth in an oh shape longer than strictly necessary, just to make sure Gerard got the message.

“Come on,” Gerard whispered, right in his ear. “Tent.”

Of course it took for-fucking-ever to get back to the campground. There were a LOT of people and they were EVERYWHERE. Gerard held his hand and they dragged each other through it. Frank might be small but he was awesome at getting through crowds.

Moving through the crowds was like a long dream— took forever when you were in it, but it all vanished at the end. It was still early enough that the campsite was pretty deserted. They picked their way through to Gerard’s tent. Gerard kicked off the ridiculous rubber boots that Frank now totally understood, because his own converse were saturated with mud.

The tent Gerard and Mikey had, Frank noticed, was pretty good. He only had to duck his head a little when he stood in it. “How is it you even own a tent?” he asked. “Mikey never goes outside and I bet you’re not any better.”

“I bought it just for this, duh,” Gerard giggled.

Frank rolled his eyes, because okay, but also Gerard was sprawled all over his sleeping bag and _looking_ at Frank and oh yeah, _sex now._

Frank grinned and threw himself down next to Gerard, which actually kind of hurt because that was the ground and not a bed, but Frank was willing to take a few knocks.

Frank leaned in and Gerard grabbed his shirt and pulled them together. He kissed Frank hard and hungry and sloppy, all the things Frank liked. Frank moaned and pushed until Gerard was on his back and Frank wriggling on top of him. Gerard tasted like coffee and smoke and Frank was so, so into this.

Then Gerard slipped his hands under Frank’s shirt and there was the jolt of skin-to-skin contact as his hands slid up his chest. They pulled apart enough to get Frank’s shirt off. Frank palmed Gerard’s dick through his jeans, feeling a proud thrill when he felt how hard Gerard was. “You should really fuck me,” Gerard said.

“Uh, yeah,” Frank said, stuttering around the hot twist in his stomach. 

Frank had to roll all the way off him so Gerard could undress, but it was worth it to get him naked. Frank got himself naked, and turned back to face Gerard. There was just enough light in the tent to make out each other’s faces. Frank felt kind of light-headed, looking at Gerard looking at him. And yeah, he was probably just staring at Frank’s tattoos, but they were still part of him and Frank was really proud of them, after all.

He was going to say something smarmy like “Like what you see?” but an intrusive bit of reality interrupted him. “Uh,” he said instead, “do you have anything?”

Gerard stared at him, eyes wild and hair even wilder. “Um... Not in here, no.” 

“Fuck,” Frank said. “I have stuff in my bag.” Which was in the other tent. Should he put on pants or just brave the cold naked?

“Okay,” Gerard said. “New plan. Blowjobs now, fucking later.”

Frank grinned. “That is a fucking excellent plan.” He launched himself at Gerard, knocking them back to the ground.

“You might want to not kill me until _after_ the blowjob,” Gerard said, but he was laughing. Gerard shoved at him and Frank moved, to make up for slamming Gerard around.

Gerard pushed Frank onto his back and then sat up, settling between Frank’s legs and dragging him to get him into the position he wanted.

He wrapped a fist around the base of Frank’s cock and Frank mewled and pushed up into Gerard’s hand. Gerard smirked at him, stroking his hand up and down lightly.

“Tease,” Frank groaned.

“Fighting words,” Gerard answered. His Jersey accent was way stronger now, and Frank had just enough time to notice it before Gerard went down, and everything was hot and tight and wet.

Gerard was _really_ good at this, and Frank found himself scrabbling at the floor of the tent in an effort not to just fuck up into Gerard’s mouth. Gerard knew what he was doing with his tongue, and it had been a while for Frank, and he was pretty sure he was just mumbling gibberish. Hopefully Gerard picked up the tone of appreciation.

Gerard worked his mouth down Frank’s cock, taking a little more each time, before relaxing his throat and swallowing Frank down. “God—fuck—damn—Ger—” Frank choked out. He couldn’t hold back anymore and wrapped his fingers in Gerard’s hair and just fucked his mouth. Frank tried to hold out, he really did, because he was _enjoying_ this, but one of Gerard’s hands was cupping his balls, delicate fingers stroking him, and then Gerard started _humming._

The noises Frank was making were pretty loud in his own ears so it took him a few seconds to realize that Gerard was humming one of his songs. And that’s when he lost it. He shouted and came so fucking hard, right down Gerard’s throat, and he totally failed at providing a warning there.

Frank threw an arm over his face, still panting. “Sorry,” he gasped. He should probably be embarrassed that hearing his own song was what made him come, but he hadn’t been prepared for how fucking hot it would sound— and feel— during a blow job. He was going to get a boner on stage every time they played it now, he just knew.

“You’ll have to make it up to me,” Gerard said. He was smirking and wiping his mouth, and he didn’t sound mad. What he did sound was wrecked, and Frank wondered if Gerard would still be hoarse tomorrow morning. He really liked that idea.

He flailed around until he grabbed Gerard and pulled him down, because he kind of wanted to kiss the hell out of him right now. Gerard seemed good with that plan, moaning into Frank’s mouth and rubbing against him. Right, because Frank owed him.

Frank pushed Gerard onto his back— with more care than before— and scooted down to get a good look at Gerard’s dick. Jesus. He wrapped a hand around and slid it up to get some of the precome to slick it up with. “You are so fucking me,” he said fervently.

Gerard laughed, still sounding hoarse and blown, and that was really doing it for Frank. Not that he was getting it up again any time soon, but that was definitely spank bank material.

Frank really, really loved sucking dick, and here was one just waiting for him, so he slipped his mouth down while Gerard was a little distracted, which produced a very satisfying gasp. Frank loved the bitter taste and the musky smell and the way those filled his mouth as much as the actual dick.

He took Gerard deep into his throat right away, then pulled off a little and used his hand too. Gerard talked a lot, which wasn’t actually in any way surprising, and Frank tried to pay attention for the _Yes, like that!_ s. 

He got in a cock-sucking zone, and almost didn’t realize that Gerard pulling on his hair was a warning. Frank had a couple of quick seconds to debate what he wanted to do, and in the end he pulled off just enough to catch most of the come in his mouth. He swallowed what he could and kept his hand moving on Gerard’s cock to work him through it.

He wiped at his face a little but Frank thought he was more smearing shit around than wiping it off. Gerard was blinking in that way Frank recognized as trying to get his eyes to focus. Then he threw Frank his t-shirt. Frank shrugged— if Gerard didn’t mind, he didn’t— and wiped himself off.

“Fuck,” Gerard said.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. He flopped over half on Gerard and crawled up to push his face into Gerard’s neck. “Cuddling’s important,” he mumbled.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Gerard sighed, and wrapped his arms around Frank.

Frank wiggled a little because this was almost too awesome to be true. The cuddling didn’t last long, though, because it was getting _cold._ Frank was not actually enough of an asshole to get in Mikey’s sleeping bag naked, so he pulled on underwear and his t-shirt before crawling inside. Gerard had just tucked himself into his, pulling it up almost over his head. Frank scootched closer.

“That was really awesome,” he whispered.

“It really was,” Gerard whispered back, and Frank thought he might be smiling, too.

 

Frank woke up sometime later and it was seriously fucking freezing. “I thought this was supposed to be summer,” he complained. Not loud, but he heard Gerard laugh by his ear.

“Welcome to England. Fuck, it’s cold,” Gerard hissed. If Mikey had come back, he hadn’t stayed, and Frank had slept through it. It felt like Frank had been asleep for a while, anyway.

“These zip together,” Gerard offered.

“I am all over that,” Frank said. Even though it meant getting _out_ of the sleeping bag, which was pretty awful. He pulled on one of Mikey’s hoodies while Gerard scrambled into a bunch of clothes. There was a too-long cold period, with lots of cursing, while they tried to get the zipper to work, before Frank found Gerard’s phone and held it up for light. After that the whole zipping-together thing went much more smoothly.

Huddling together with Gerard in their double bag was way more enjoyable than shivering alone had been, even with all the clothes. They actually warmed up enough to sleep well.

 

Frank woke up pretty early the next morning. He left Gerard to sleep. He’d seen the portable showers at the campsite and wanted a piece of that, and early seemed like his best bet. He had to stop at the other tent first to get his stuff. All his guys had spooned up in a long string, and Frank quickly took a couple pictures for blackmail.

The shower wasn’t the worst thing ever, and by the time Frank got back to their campsite, Gerard and Mikey and Ray were up doing something with coffee. He looked at Gerard, who was doing a pretty good impression of a zombie, then went to rub his wet hair in Mikey’s face, because Mikey always appreciated things like that.

“Fucking hell, Frank,” Mikey batted at him. Like fighting with a kitten. “Bad enough you stole my bed,” Mikey complained.

“Don’t worry,” Frank said. “We didn’t actually fuck _in_ your sleeping bag, Mikeyway. Just on top of it.”

Mikey made a pained sound. Ray just sighed.

Gerard, apparently, was not actually awake until after coffee. Frank kind of wanted to go over and put his hands all over him, but he’d been enough of a shit to Mikey this morning. Besides, they had the whole long ride back to London.

They’d planned on leaving today in the afternoon, rather than tomorrow, and Frank was relieved when no one wanted to change the plan. The festival had been amazing, but this was also more mud than Frank had ever seen in his life. And Gerard had a bed back in London.

They packed up the tents and loaded the car, then went back into the festival grounds to catch a few last acts and grab lunch. Frank thought he was doing a pretty good job keeping his hands to himself, but Mikey kept giving him these looks that said pretty clearly he didn’t agree. Gerard pretended to ignore Frank and then slunk his hand over stealthily, brushing at Frank’s lower back under his shirt. No one was giving them too much shit, but Frank knew from experience that was for Gerard’s sake, not his.

They took off around two and traffic wasn’t bad at all. Frank claimed shotgun again, and he was so bouncy no one objected because no one wanted to sit next to him.

“Do you ever draw your own comics?” Frank asked, sometime in the vicinity of Stonehenge, according to Gerard. Everyone else had passed out in the back.

“I used to,” Gerard said, keeping his eyes on the road through the swishing windshield wipers. “But it takes so long, you know? I just don’t have time to write and draw. And I was better at the writing, so.”

“Pff,” Frank said. He was sitting sideways in his seat, so he reached out and poked Gerard’s thigh with his toes. “Who told you that? Mikey says you’re awesome.”

Gerard laughed. “I really like it, and I still draw all the fucking time. But I really like having an artist too, especially when they’re really good. It’s pretty awesome to see what someone else does with your ideas, you know? And it’s just less lonely.”

“Are you lonely?” Frank asked without thinking.

He’d expected Gerard to deny it flat-out, like any normal person would, but of course Gerard wasn’t any normal person. He was quiet for a moment, and thoughtful, and Frank could see him considering the question seriously.

“Not uncomfortably so,” Gerard said. “Not most of the time. And everyone’s lonely some of the time, right?”

Frank nodded, leaning the back of his head against the cold window.”Don’t you miss home?” he asked, after a moment.

Gerard raised his eyebrows. “I _am_ home,” he said.

Frank felt like he’d been kind of a jackass, so he kept quiet for a few miles or kilometers or whatever it was. He kept watching Gerard, though, because his face was just so _interesting._ “But you miss Mikey, right?” He just couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Of course I miss Mikey,” Gerard said. “And the rest of my family, and my friends back home. But that doesn’t mean this isn’t where I belong.”

“Huh,” Frank said. He brought his feet up on the seat and rested his chin on his knees. “You should draw me something,” he said. “A tattoo.”

“Oh yeah?” Gerard glanced over at him. “I could, if you wanted. Sketch out a few ideas? You wouldn’t have to use it.”

“You should draw me a bunch,” Frank said. Of course he’d use it.

Gerard glanced at Frank again. “Course,” and now he was keeping his eyes carefully on the road, “I’d have to see what you already have, to fit in with the theme.”

Frank didn’t have a theme, but he wasn’t stupid. He grinned. “I’d be happy to show you all of them,” he said. “Any time.”

Gerard was smiling now, smug, and Frank wanted to kiss it off him. Gerard looked at him again, obviously sizing him up. Frank shifted his hips a little.

“Are you even wearing a seatbelt?” Gerard asked.

“Yes, mom,” Frank replied, snotty as possible. He’d wiggled out of the chest strap and if they got in an accident the lap belt would probably cut him in half, but whatever. “The view’s nicer this way,” he leered.

Gerard had to look at him a couple times to figure it out. Then he blushed, a little, which was adorable, and swatted at Frank with his left hand.

Frank caught it easily and threaded their fingers together.

“I’m gonna need that to shift in a minute,” Gerard said.

“I’ll shift,” Frank said. Gerard snorted.

Out of nowhere, Mikey said, “That will end in fiery death.”

“Just for the transmission,” Frank argued.

“And us,” Mikey insisted.

Gerard nodded, siding with Mikey, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Frank was pretty sure that meant he’d won.

* * *

Gerard got a really good look at Frank’s tattoos that night, when they were fucking. Mikey, without saying a word, had taken Frank’s hotel room. Gerard felt guilty he wasn’t spending more time with Mikey, but Mikey just rolled his eyes.

“I knew this would happen,” he said. “So whatever.”

“You did not,” Gerard protested.

Mikey just sighed and shook his head.

They only had a couple days left in London anyway. Gerard did sight-seeing stuff with them during the day and evening, and after dinner Frank went back with him. They went to the Tower of London and rode the Eye and went to Borough Market so Frank could see the Leaky Cauldron. Gerard lived pretty far from the center of London where all the touristy bits were, and the tube ride back to Gerard’s was long, but they were usually able to squeeze into a seat together and either whisper or just try not to pass out, depending on how exhausting the day had been.

They didn’t spend the entire time in bed (or the shower or the couch or the floor or the wall). One night they stayed up until two talking, Gerard showing Frank what amounted to his portfolio as well as the comics he was currently writing, and Frank gave Gerard the history of Frank Iero, rock star— all the bands he’d been in, even playing him accompanying mp3s. He refused to go trawling through YouTube for performance vids, though, so Gerard made a mental note to save that for after Frank left.

They knew, the whole time, that this was only for a few days, only for now, and maybe it made the sex a little hotter, more frantic, but it was what it was. Gerard was totally fine with that. 

So it surprised him, after he kissed Frank goodbye outside Heathrow security and hugged everyone else, how much he wished he was going with them.

* * *

PART 2

Gerard couldn’t wait until he got to see Mikey. And Frank. To be honest, he was pretty much as excited to see Frank as he was to see Mikey. Gerard wouldn’t say he was gagging for it but...he pretty much fit the common definition. Not that he was going over with any expectations. They hadn’t made any promises. Maybe Frank had found someone else and Mikey just hadn’t told Gerard because...because he wanted to tell him in person?

No, Gerard thought, he _knew_ that Mikey would have told him. Warned him. No warning meant nothing to warn him about. Right? Right.

Gerard ran a hand through his hair, still startled by the bright red. It looked _good,_ though, he was sure about that. He told himself he didn’t care what Frank thought of it. It’s not like he couldn’t dye it back, anyway.

Gerard had thought, seriously, about going out for San Diego then going to stay with his family until New York Comic-Con. In the end Gerard decided that staying with his family that long would just drive them all insane and put Gerard much too far behind. That’s the excuse he gave his parents, anyway.

So he flew over for SDCC, which was a blur of signings and his favorite people, then flew home, worked for a couple months solid, and flew to New York for NYCC.

Mikey already knew about the red hair, because Gerard had done it a few days ago and he’d talked to Mikey on Skype since then. Mikey detached himself from the crowd after Gerard finally cleared customs and got his bag, an hour after he’d landed.

“I hate JFK,” Gerard said, dropping his bags and hugging the shit out of Mikey.

“Everyone hates JFK,” Mikey mumbled. “But we can ride the monorail.”

“The monorail’s okay,” Gerard agreed.

All his stuff had made it over, even the boxes he’d shipped months ago (because shipping either took two months or a week, and you never knew which one it would be).

“So,” Mikey said, once Gerard had fussed over all his stuff and their mom had fussed over him a bit too. “How tired are you?” Gerard shrugged. “Like, you want to go out to dinner with the guys?” Mikey raised an eyebrow, and gave Gerard a look that would have been over the top of Mikey’s glasses if Mikey still had them.

Gerard ran a hand through his fire-engine red hair. “The guys?”

“And Alicia.” Mikey rolled his eyes, and Gerard took that to mean _Yes, Frank will be there._

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “Yeah, I’m up for that.”

* * *

It wasn't that Frank was nervous, really, just a little jittery and he’d smoked about 20 cigarettes today and he really had knocked Ray’s guitar over, that was totally his fault, and he’d gotten a hair cut yesterday and he’d actually brought his razor to the office today so he could shave before going out to dinner. So there was all of that, and Frank didn’t pretend to himself about it being anything else. His heart had been racing a lot today.

The thing was...Gerard. It’s not like Frank had missed him, exactly, because he hadn’t known him long enough to miss, but he hadn’t been far out of Frank’s thoughts, either. Especially, to be honest, when he was jerking off, and there had been a lot of that too, because Frank was even pickier about hook ups now than he used to be.

So there was all of that, and then Gerard walked in to the diner behind Mikey and his hair was ridiculous and also, inexplicably, smack-in-the-head, punch-in-the-stomach hot.

Frank swallowed his tongue and his eyes bugged— at least that was what his so-called friends told him later when they did impressions of him— and Gerard’s gaze roamed around until he saw Frank, and then he grinned, a little shy, which was ridiculous because _seriously, Elmo-red hair there,_ and Frank tried to not to grin too much, despite being suddenly, violently happy.

“Hey,” Gerard said, after Alicia got up and hugged him. He sounded a little out of breath.

“Hey, Gee,” Ray smiled.

“Dude,” James said. “Your hair.”

Gerard immediately fingered a strand. “I know. It’s bright. I’m still getting used to it.”

“Dude,” Frank said, but couldn’t figure out where to go from there.

Gerard wavered, trying to decide where to sit, until Mikey pushed him toward Frank’s end of the u-shaped booth. “You guys can sit together,” Mikey said. “But only if you don’t gross everyone else out.”

Frank’s grin sharpened. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Gerard giggled and slid in next to Frank, scooting close so Mikey could fit his bony ass on the end.

“Hi,” Gerard whispered.

“Hi,” Frank whispered back. He couldn’t stop smiling, and he knew he was being ridiculous and felt kind of sorry for everyone else who had to witness this.

Gerard kept shooting Frank little looks, even as he chattered about how happy he was to be in a real Jersey diner again, since England had nothing that even came close, and whether he should order an egg cream just because he could. But of course Gerard ordered coffee— they all did. Alicia kept looking back and forth between them and smirking.

Frank found it hard to concentrate on anything other than Gerard’s thigh pressed against his and the places their arms brushed. Because he was a fourteen year old with a crush.

Gerard raved over the greasy diner food and then announced he was going out for a smoke. Mikey shuffled over to the other side and let him out. Frank lasted about ten seconds.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna grab a smoke too.” Everyone else wolf-whistled and cat-called, and Frank flipped them off over his shoulder as he hurried out after Gerard.

Gerard was just outside the door, not-quite leaning against the wall. He smiled at Frank around his cigarette, which was just hanging out of his mouth, and it was so dirty Frank’s dick twitched in his pants.

Telling himself firmly to behave, Frank hurried to light up. 

“I was hoping you’d join me out here,” Gerard said, blowing smoke in Frank’s face.

“Is that so?” Frank countered, like he was cool instead of ready to get on his knees here and now for Gerard. He blew smoke back at Gerard, who cracked up, and Frank lost it immediately. It wasn’t even funny; he just felt giddy, and he couldn’t not laugh if Gerard was laughing.

“So,” Frank said, when he’d settled down. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s really good to see you again, too.” Gerard could really do sincere.

“Hey, I got that tattoo you drew me,” Frank said.

“Ooh, yeah,” Gerard lit up. “Mikey said. Can I see?”

“Hell yes.” Frank put his cigarette in his mouth and turned around, lifting up his shirt and jacket. He did his best not to jump at the brush of Gerard’s fingers over the revolvers on his lower back, but he couldn’t help the shiver. The air had a touch of fall briskness in it, after all.

“Nice tramp stamp,” Gerard said.

“Fuck off,” Frank said, grinning and trying to keep his cigarette clenched in his teeth.

“It looks great,” Gerard said, finally pulling his fingers away.

“It’s fucking amazing,” Frank let his shirt fall down and turned around. “I think you missed your calling as a tattoo artist.”

They grinned at each other like idiots until Gerard cursed and dropped his smoke, which reminded Frank to take another drag of his. “Too bad,” he said, and stepped on the butt for Gerard.

“No big,” Gerard said. “I stocked up at the duty free.”

“In that case I’ll bum them off you.”

“We might be able to work out an arrangement.”

That was when Frank dropped his own cigarette butt and stepped into Gerard’s space, crowding his back against the wall. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he declared.

“Fucking better,” Gerard said. “After all that—”

There was really only one way to shut Gerard up, and Frank took it. Gerard’s mouth was hot and wet and eager, even better than he’d remembered. He tasted like cigarettes and coffee and _Jersey,_ and Frank moaned a little into his mouth, sucking on Gerard’s tongue. He twined one hand in that bright red hair, like he’d been dying to do since Gerard walked in with it. Gerard’s hands were kneading his hips, trying to pull Frank closer, and Frank did his best to be obliging.

Frank lost track of time (and space, pretty much), and he was busy sucking a hickey onto Gerard’s neck while Gerard made these noises under his mouth, when the diner door slammed open with a rough tinkle of the bell hanging on the door.

“Fags,” someone said. Not even in a mean or disgusted way, necessarily; it sounded like an observation. It was enough to make Frank remember where they were though, and he stepped back.

“Asshole,” Gerard said, but the guy who’d said it was already across the parking lot. Good thing, too, because he looked like he weighed twice as much as Frank and Gerard put together.

“Yeah,” Frank said, wiping at his mouth a little. “This probably isn’t the time or place.”

Gerard made a face. “Fucking Jersey. So, like...I’m staying with my parents tonight, is the thing.”

“Ah,” Frank said. He’d met the Ways before of course, as Mikey’s parents. Meeting them as the guy their other son was hooking up with would be different. “And they probably want to hang out with you.”

“Yeah,” Gerard bit his lip, and Frank couldn’t look away. “But tomorrow night I’m going to be at the hotel in the city. Near the convention center.”

“Oh, hey,” Frank said. “That’s not too far from work. I mean, just across town.”

“But the short way,” Gerard smiled.

“Yeah,” Frank grinned.

“Oh, you’re still here,” Mikey stuck his head out the door. “Ray thought you got abducted by aliens. Alicia thought you were just trying to get out of paying the bill.”

Gerard pouted. “Alicia wouldn’t think that.”

“Not about you,” Mikey agreed. Frank flipped him off, and Mikey giggled. Gerard sidled over to Mikey and wrapped his arm across his brother’s shoulders.

“Though I really don’t have any dollars,” Gerard said, all chipper. “So there’s that.”

“I see,” Frank said. “ _That’s_ how you get out of paying the bill.”

“Mooch,” Mikey said, but tugged Gerard in after him, and Frank had to scramble to catch the door to follow them in.

* * *

Gerard was stupid busy the next day, finding his way around the huge convention center and setting up and trying not to trip over extension cords and tipping the Teamsters and keeping track of his stuff and not passing out in the middle of the floor and getting guest passes for Mikey and Alicia and Frank. Of course Becky got wind of that immediately and made it clear she was going to take the piss for the rest of, oh, ever.

“Is that what the red hair’s about?” she asked, poking him in the shoulder. “Your rock star boyfriend?”

Gerard flushed and muttered “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I listened to their band, you know. They’re not bad.”

Gerard perked up and beamed. “Right? They’re amazing live.”

Becky leered at him. “I bet he is.”

“Oh my God,” Gerard said. “Mikey doesn’t bother me this much.”

“I know,” Becky said. “I’ve got to pick up his slack, too.”

Gerard looked around a little frantically. “Oh look, there’s Brian Wood. Why don’t you go bother him?”

“Nah,” Becky said, after pretending to consider. “I bother him all day already. I so rarely get a chance to bother you in person.” She ruffled his hair.

Gerard flailed at her. “You just saw me!” 

Cameron Stewart sauntered over then, but if Gerard thought it was a reprieve he was sorely mistaken. “I see they’re letting anyone into the Red Headed League now.”

And then Becky told him all about Gerard’s crush, and then Cameron, who was a surprisingly hateful person under the sweet exterior, said “Does Grant know?” in tones of utter delight. The only thing that saved Gerard from having to kill everyone was the near total lack of phone signal in the exhibition hall.

And the convention hadn’t even started yet.

The day got astronomically better, though, when he returned to the hotel and found Frank in the lobby, fiddling awkwardly with his phone. Gerard stopped and stared at him for a few seconds like a creeper, then shook himself and walked up.

“Hi.”

Frank jumped a little, then grinned. “Hi yourself.”

They stood for a moment, and Gerard dithered on asking Frank how his day was. “Do you want to get dinner?” He finally asked.

Frank looked Gerard up and down. “I could wait.”

Gerard licked his lips. “There’s always room service, right?”

 

The kissing was distracting, Gerard thought, because Frank was just so good at it. He had to keep reminding himself to work his fingers inside Frank, stretching him out and feeling for his prostate.

Frank unsealed their mouths with a large smacking sound that would have been funny under other circumstances. “Okay, I’m ready,” he panted, screwing himself down on Gerard’s hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Gee, come on.”

Gerard kept rubbing and stroking a little bit more, just to be a bitch, but when Frank somehow managed to make a noise that was as much growl as whine, Gerard pulled his hand out and went for the condom and lube.

Frank had a hand on his own dick as he watched Gerard get ready, squeezing around the base and stroking the shaft a little lightly, like he just couldn’t help it. He was sweaty and flushed and had hair clinging to his face in wet strands.

“You’re gorgeous,” Gerard said, moving back between Frank’s legs, pushing them up gently. “Sure you’re ready?”

“Fuck yes,” Frank groaned, his hips rising off the bed. “I’ve been ready for mon—”

He choked off in a moan as Gerard started to push inside. He was fucking tight, and hot, it was a little rough, but Frank didn’t seem to be having a problem with that. He felt fucking amazing.

Gerard worked himself in in small, steady thrusts, until he couldn’t get any deeper. “Still going good?”

“Fuck, god, yes. You’re so...” He looked up at Gerard with glassy eyes, then reached up and wrapped his hands in Gerard’s hair. “Fucking _go._ ”

Gerard went. Frank felt so good around him, hot and tight and clinging, and this was where Gerard wanted to be forever. He fucked Frank, and underneath him Frank moaned and gasped and snapped his hips to meet Gerard’s, the tip of his cock rubbing across Gerard’s stomach, leaving a wet trail. 

Gerard wanted to do this forever, forever and ever, but he wasn’t going to last much longer. He shifted back and up a little more, changing the angle, and Frank was being really loud, rolling his head around and almost thrashing underneath Gerard. Gerard was never going to be able to look at him on stage without seeing this, fucking christ.

Frank managed to wrap a hand around his cock which was almost purple, he was so hard. His hand was moving up and down in a blur of tattoos, and sometime Gerard really just wanted to watch Frank jerk himself off. But not this time. This time, Gerard was grabbing Frank’s legs, pushing them up, opening Frank up even more. He only thrust a few times at this new angle before he felt Frank coming between them with a shout. Gerard kept his hips moving, short rocking thrusts, until Frank took his hand off his dick. 

Then Gerard shifted Frank around again and just let himself go, losing himself in Frank all around him until he came, long, hard, dark and flashing lights came. He panted, face pressed to Frank’s sweaty skin, feeling Frank stroking his hair.

* * *

Frank had never been to a comic convention before, and it was way more overwhelming than he expected. There were so many people, and they were all crammed together underground in giant rooms. He actually volunteered to be a gopher and go fetch coffee and bagels and pizza for everyone, because that was all Gerard wanted to eat, like a total tourist. Whatever, it’s not like Frank didn’t like bagels and pizza, and he totally understood missing New York bagels and pizza trapped in the land of tea and curry. So he brought Gerard white pizza and made fun of the way he said _schedule_ and shoved people out of the way when Gerard was being too polite.

Frank also had an awesome VIP pass, because Gerard knew how to hook up a dude who’d be giving him a blowjob later. Although Frank was getting the impression that plenty of people here would be willing to give Gerard a blowjob. 

Gerard had official signing times but whenever they were on the floor people came up to him wanting autographs or pictures or both. Frank used about fifty different cameras that day, taking pictures for people. Gerard always seemed amazed that anyone would cosplay his characters, and it was so freaking adorable Frank didn’t mind that it made it impossible to hold a conversation with him.

(Even if that last White Violin had been kind of handsy. Frank had been tempted to mess up the picture in lieu of slapping her hands away and shouting “mine!”, but he hadn’t. He really was growing up.

But Frank maybe had tangled his fingers with Gerard’s for a little while after that. Just because.)

Gerard was wearing black jeans and a white shirt and a vest and tie, and his hair really glowed against that. Frank wanted to grab him by the tie and mess him up. But even when they found a dark corner in the VIP area, someone was shouting Gerard’s name and coming over to say hi.

“You’re really famous,” Frank said, impressed. “You’re a total rock star.”

“Nah,” Gerard said, wrinkling his nose. Frank wanted to bite his knuckles it was so cute. “You should see Grant on the floor. Or Neil Gaiman. They can’t even walk.” Gerard smiled fondly at some memory and started talking about the protective barrier Stan Lee traveled with, and Frank might have walked into a chair because he was so busy looking at Gerard.

He didn’t quite realize what was happening until Gerard’s panel, though. People were _screaming_ for Gerard, laughing and cheering, and he had the audience in the palm of his hand, even the people who were just waiting for the next panel. The question line was ridiculously long, and most of the girls and a lot of the boys blushed when Gerard smiled at them. Frank didn’t blame them— Gerard’s smile was bright and welcoming, even when he was being shy and trying to hide behind his hair— which Frank could have told him didn’t work when it was the color of a stop light.

Frank found himself sitting next to Mikey in the front row, gazing up at Gerard with a dopey smile on his face. He didn’t even realize it until Alicia took a picture and she and Mikey sniggered at him. He made Alicia show him the picture, and it took him aback, the expression on his face. When had he started looking at Gerard like that? Did he look at Gerard like that all the time?

He felt jittery and anxious and lost the struggle to pay attention for the rest of the panel. He was so fucked.

 

Gerard looked hugely relieved when the panel was over. “God, I hate doing it by myself,” he said. “Fucking Gabriel abandoned me this time. Tomorrow I have the Batman panel, but that’s with everyone, and everyone will be talking to Gail, so that’s okay.” He grinned at Frank and tugged on his hand. “I need a smoke. Come with me?”

They ended up in an alley (with its accompanying New York Alley Smell). It wasn’t deserted, but the only other guys out there were convention center employees and teamsters who didn’t give a fuck who they were. It was a nice day— not that any sun got down here— and they lingered, kicking at the trash around their feet and brushing against each other.

“Are you okay?” Gerard squinted at him. “You’re kind of quiet.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “I guess I’m just kind of tired.”

“It’s pretty overwhelming in there,” Gerard nodded.

It was pretty overwhelming right here, Frank thought.

He sent Gerard in ahead of him so he could make a couple calls and send a few texts. Why not, he thought. It would be fun.

* * *

New London Fire was squeezed into a slot at Gramercy Theater, opening for another band on the label Frank and Mikey worked for. Gerard was standing off to the side with Becky and Cameron and Phil Jimenez, who had all invited themselves along because they wanted to spy on Gerard’s boy.

Gerard felt like he had coked-up butterflies in his stomach when New London Fire came out. He wasn’t nervous for them like he had been at Glastonbury— this was their home turf, they had this— but watching Frank up there wasn’t helping shut the butterflies up at all.

Even though Gerard was now standing in the back of the room instead of side stage, it didn’t seem to make a difference. It was just as easy to see Frank, follow him as he thrashed around the stage and spit at the audience and careened off Mikey and Ray. Frank was _fierce_ tonight, like he had a lot of tension to release. There were a couple points Gerard felt like he swallowed his tongue, pretty much.

Gerard got a text from Frank after the set, saying he’d meet Gerard in the hotel bar. Becky stole his phone to read it, so Gerard was well-accompanied on his way back. He still managed to be waiting outside when Frank bounced up. Frank plucked the cigarette from his mouth and took a deep puff, holding it in his lungs before blowing it in Gerard’s face.

“Well hello to you too,” Gerard snarked, but his hands were already sneaking onto Frank’s hips.

“You know you love it when I blow on your face,” Frank said, and smirked when Gerard choked on air or drool or something because he was picturing Frank coming all over his face. 

“Fucker,” he said, when he’d recovered enough to form words again. Frank was grinning, so Gerard pulled him close and licked into his mouth. Frank kissed him back hard, sucking on Gerard’s tongue and scraping his teeth against it until Gerard moaned.

Frank ground his hips against Gerard’s and Gerard felt his hands migrating— totally of their own accord— to Frank’s ass.

“Upstairs?” Frank pulled away enough to gasp into his ear, then bit his ear and sucked on the earlobe.

“Yeah...” Gerard winced. “About that...”

Frank pulled back so he could look at him and blinked. He was still a little flushed and sweaty from the show, and his hair was wild, and he basically looked like he’d already been fucked tonight and was ready to go again. Gerard’s legs went wobbly. Gerard had promised to introduce Frank; he’d just have to make it quick.

 

“So, these are my colleagues,” Gerard said, ushering Frank into the bar. “I apologize—” Becky wolf-whistled from across the room— “in advance.” Gerard sighed, but Frank was giggling and grinning, and he didn’t hesitate at all, just threw himself into a chair.

It wasn’t _too_ painful. There was teasing and innuendo but Frank gave as good as he got, or better. Gerard couldn’t quite keep his hands off him, but he did manage to keep his hands to the small of Frank’s back or his leg under the table, and didn’t just rub all over him the way he wanted to.

Phil finally took pity on him and yawned ostentatiously before announcing he was beat and had to head home. 

“Oh, yeah,” Gerard said. “I’m super-exhausted too.” He pretended to yawn. Frank ruined it by cracking up.

Phil stood up and pulled on his jacket. “Good night, everyone.” Then he ruined all the good will he’d built up with Gerard by leering at him and Frank and saying “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Or take pictures if you do.”

Gerard finally had to flip everyone off and drag Frank away himself. They didn’t get the lift to themselves so they had to be content with casually brushing their arms together and avoiding eye contact. Gerard felt charged and jittery— he’d been thinking about Frank on stage all night, and he had _ideas._

* * *

Frank tangled his fingers in Gerard’s hair, the red strands like lava around Frank’s ink-dark hands. “Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing his thumb over Gerard’s skull. 

Gerard looked up him, eyes dark and mouth stretched red and wet around Frank’s cock. “ _Fuck,_ ” Frank said, louder, and he to fight himself not to thrust into Gerard’s mouth.

Gerard pulled off slowly, sucking for an extra moment on the head of Frank’s cock before pulling off with a pop. His hand was still sliding up and down and Frank’s cock, slow and steady and easy with the spit.

Gerard looked up at Frank consideringly. “That thing we were talking about earlier, outside?” he said. “You should do that.”

It took Frank a while to remember, since his brain was drugged with lust and sex and Gerard on his knees in front of him. And then he _did_ remember, and he almost came just from thinking about it.

“Um, yeah,” Frank finally stuttered out. 

Gerard smirked and leaned forward enough to nuzzle along Frank’s cock, rubbing his cheek against the shaft and nuzzling into Frank’s groin. There were strands of Gerard’s hair caught on Frank’s dick and all Frank could do was whimper.

Gerard took his time nuzzling back up before rubbing the head of Frank’s dick along the curve of his lips. “Jesus fuck,” Frank said, because _Jesus fuck._

Gerard started licking Frank’s cock like a lollypop, considering each spot carefully before darting his tongue out. Apparently he just wanted Frank to lose his mind.

Frank was standing—barely— against the wall because they hadn’t made it to the bed yet, and now he bounced his head off the wall a couple time, hoping the pain would give him some focus or stamina or something that meant he could make it through this sanity-intact.

Gerard seemed breathless himself, eyes wide and dark. He sucked the head of Frank’s dick into his mouth, finally done with his teasing. Frank groaned in relief as Gerard’s hand began working him, sliding firm and steady.

Frank was so close now, and he made a strangled noise and pulled at Gerard’s hair. Gerard pulled off immediately with an obscene pop, and that sent Frank over the edge. When he could open his eyes, he saw that he had indeed come all over Gerard’s face. He did, in fact, look really, really good.

“Motherfucker,” Frank gasped and fell to his knees, reaching out and grabbing Gerard’s face. He got come all over his hand but he _did not care_ ; he dragged Gerard over, almost tipping both of them over, so he could kiss him.

Gerard was making little whimpering noises into Frank’s mouth that would have set Frank off if he had anything left. Instead, Frank wrapped a come-sticky hand around Gerard’s cock and jerked him off. It didn’t take long; Gerard’s cock was burning hot and hard and leaking by the time Frank got his hand on it. He barely got a rhythm going before Gerard came, covering both their torsos in come.

“Oh fuck,” Gerard groaned, sagging against Frank. Frank held him up, waiting until Gerard got his breath back, cheek pressed to Gerard’s hair.

They were really pretty disgusting, actually, so Frank pulled Gerard into the shower once they could walk again, and made sure Gerard washed all the spunk out of his hair.

After the shower, they pushed open the windows the three inches they would actually open and smoked out them. Gerard put on pajama pants but Frank didn’t bother, just stayed wrapped in the towel. He liked the cool breeze on his skin. Frank tried to lean out the window, way up above Manhattan, all dark sides and glowing middle. Gerard squeaked, even though there was no physical way for Frank to fit out the window; that was the whole point. He laughed and tapped his cigarette, letting the winds carry the ash out and away, to Wall Street or Tribeca or the ocean.

Gerard slid a careful hand up Frank’s back. Frank closed his eyes. Everything felt great.

 

They curled up in the big bed, face-to-face. Frank put a hand on Gerard’s chest, which was still bare and the littlest bit damp. Gerard had been working out a bit more since Glastonbury. So had Frank, actually. It had started on Frank’s part about when he heard Gerard would be coming over. Frank felt helpless, and he didn’t like it, although he wouldn’t have wanted to trade it for anything, either.

“When are you leaving?” he asked, keeping his voice soft and as neutral as he could make it. “Going back to London?”

“Mmmh?” Gerard blinked at him, slow and sleepy. “In three days,” he yawned. “Fuck.” He sounded a little more alert, like he was thinking about what that meant.

Frank yawned too, of course, and echoed “Fuck” in agreement. He looked at Gerard, lying there and looking back at him, and Frank wanted. It made his heart and stomach ache, which was stupid, but there it was, pulling him under all the same. “Gee,” he said, but didn’t know where to begin.

“Frank,” Gerard said, his fingertips just brushing Frank’s face. It felt like a secret.

“Would you ever move back here?” Frank let himself ask.

“Frank.” This time it was a sigh, and Gerard shifted around, propping himself up a bit more. Frank closed his eyes; he didn’t want to see Gerard’s face when he said no.

“I wouldn’t, Frank. I can’t.”

Frank had braced for it but it still stung. Enough that he had to remind himself to breathe through it.

“Frank,” Gerard said, and touched his shoulder. It sounded like _I’m sorry_ but that wasn’t what Frank wanted to hear.

“Right, well,” he said, and rolled over. He pushed himself up until he was sitting and only then did he open his eyes. His voice sounded weird, and why the fuck wasn’t he wearing pants? “It’s getting late,” he said, which was the dumbest thing he’d said in a while, and that was saying something. He didn’t really care right now, though. It was hard enough talking around the lump in his throat. And that pretty much just made him want to punch something.

“Frank!” Now Gerard sounded shocked, and he actually sort of tackled Frank, with more skill than Frank would have expected. He dragged Frank back down to the bed without either of them falling off, anyway.

“Don’t go!” Gerard sounded very upset— _was_ very upset— and pressed against Frank’s back, arms tight because they both knew he was still pinning Frank in place. “Fucker,” Gerard grumbled. “What about ’I’m not moving back to New York,’ sounded like ‘Get the fuck out’?” And then he got a leg over Frank’s, just as insurance.

Frank grunted, because of course when he put it like that all Frank had was _nothing._

Frank stopped pushing at Gerard’s arms and glared at the stupid hotel room wall instead. Fucking beige.

Gerard settled himself on top of Frank a bit more comfortably. “Frankie,” he began, “when I lived here I hated every second of it. I didn’t know what I was doing, or what I should be doing, or how, or anything. I was fucking lost, you know? I was drifting, and I was miserable, and I didn’t know who I was or where I belonged, except that things weren’t right. And then I went to a workshop in London.” His grip on Frank lightened a little, since Frank wasn’t making a wild bid for escape again.

“And when I was there...things just fell into place. I knew I had to get out of New York, and I met Grant and the rest of the...uh, his friends, and they talked me into staying, into giving London a try. Everything fell into place, for the first time ever. Shit was easy. I mean, a lot of shit _wasn’t,_ you should have seen the fucking visa thing, but work-wise, writing-wise... _That_ was easy, that was gold, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed.” Gerard sighed. He’d long since stopped holding onto Frank with the arm not pinned under Frank and Gerard was using it to gesture. 

“I made sense, for the first time ever. And I actually have a career, doing what I want.” He rubbed Frank’s arm gently. “I’m not leaving London, not anytime soon. I _like_ it there. It’s where I belong.” 

Frank had nothing to say to that. He finally got Gerard to give him enough space that Frank could turn around. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he’d last seen Gerard. He thought grimly of how long it would feel, later.

Gerard resettled his arm on Frank, fingers lightly tracing up and down Frank’s side. “I mean,” Gerard said, quiet and reasonable, “would you leave Jersey to move to London?”

Frank stared without seeing. “If you asked me to, you mean?” Forming words required careful concentration.

“Yes,” Gerard said.

Frank looked up at Gerard. “Are you asking me to?”

Gerard took a long moment before answering. He licked his lips, and Frank held his breath. “Yes,” Gerard said.

Frank exhaled, shaky, and the next inhale felt huge and light. Even if his kneejerk reaction was _I can’t leave Jersey._ But he forced himself to stop and consider it, seriously.

_Not even for Gerard?_

He thought about the neat tangle of London and the dirty sprawl of Jersey, sticky summer nights and Central Park in autumn and his mom’s house, all the shitty venues he’d grown up in, how it felt to get on stage with his band; contrasted with the rumpled sheets of Gerard’s bed and Gerard next to him, _always_ next to him.

“No,” Frank said, and there was a kind of relief. It was astoundingly simple, ripping your heart in two.

Gerard sighed, shaky, but he didn’t seem surprised. “See?” he said.

“Yeah.” They lay silent for a while, staring up at the ceiling.

Or not. When Frank eventually glanced at Gerard, he found him with his head tilted back, glaring at the painting above his head. “Why are hotel paintings so ugly?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know,” Gerard said. “But this one’s, like, offensively ugly.”

“Could be worse,” Frank offered. “Could be Thomas Kinkaid.”

“Don’t ever say that name in my presence again,” Gerard pretended to snap. Frank laughed, and Gerard chuckled a little. It might have been on the edge of hysteria, but it was just the fountain of relief that was running in the back of his mind leaking out. They were still okay, at least.

“So what happens now?” Frank asked, when they’d settled down again.

Gerard shrugged. “I finish the con and go back to London. You play in your band here.”

“Is that it?” Frank did an absolutely terrible job of keeping the hurt out of his voice.

“No,” Gerard said. “I understand they have planes and phones now.”

“Fuck you,” Frank said. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“As simple as walking into Mordor,” Gerard mumbled.

“Oh my god,” Frank laughed again and rubbed his eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

“Fuck _you,_ ” Gerard said, turning and trying to drive a knuckle into Frank’s ribs. “You got it!”

“Of course I got it,” Frank shoved Gerard’s fist away from him. “What do you think I am?”

They wrestled, although Frank figured out pretty quickly he probably wanted to lose, so he let Gerard pin his arms down and crawl on top of him. “I don’t know,” Gerard said, “what are you?”

“Well,” Frank said. His heart was pounding. “Yours.”

Gerard swooped down and kissed him, very thoroughly.

“This is gonna suck,” Frank whispered when he could, when their foreheads were resting together as they sucked in air.

“We’ve just got to try,” Gerard answered. “What else can we do?”

“Nothing,” Frank said, and Gerard seemed to like that answer.

He kissed Frank again, sucking on his lower lip for a while before pulling back just a little. “Hey, so,” Gerard said, “I guess I pretty much love you.”

Everything felt hot and tight for a moment and Frank reached up to grab Gerard, pull him down close again. “I pretty much fucking love you too,” Frank said, or tried to say, because his face was mashed into Gerard’s neck. Gerard seemed to get the message, though.

* * *

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” Gerard said.

“Shut up, I did,” Frank mumbled. “I don’t mind. And anyway, you took us back to the airport in London.”

Gerard smiled a little at the floor. He felt...not shy, exactly. More like he just felt so much he didn’t know how to handle it. They stood around outside security as long as Gerard could, probably drawing all kinds of suspicions down on them. 

Gerard eyed his enemy, the clock, and sighed. “I need to go.” He didn’t actually move, though Frank did, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s neck and holding on tight. Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, clung to Frank, and pressed his face against Frank’s neck.

There were a ton of things Gerard wanted to say, like _I don't want to go_ and _Come with me_ but they wouldn't change anything and would just make them both feel bad, and were therefore shitty things to say.

“The line at security’s getting long,” Frank said glumly.

“Fuck security,” Gerard grumbled. He pressed a kiss to Frank’s neck and started mentally preparing himself to let go. It was pretty awful. By the time Gerard had convinced himself to unwrap his arms and step away, Frank was clinging to his sleeve again.

“There’s an hour 'til your plane leaves,” Frank whined.

“So they’ll start boarding in twenty minutes,” Gerard pointed out. And security was going to be a bitch.

“Maybe,” Frank muttered. They looked at the big board, but Gerard’s flight was still listed as an on-time departure. 

“This is stupid,” Frank said, and pulled Gerard’s head around so he could kiss him really thoroughly.

By the time they detached, Gerard was panting and _really_ had to get in the security queue.

“I’ll call you,” Gerard promised. “Really soon.” He’d made Mikey promise to set up Skype for Frank.

“Yeah,” Frank said, making an obvious effort to swallow. “Have a good flight, I guess.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Gerard squeezed Frank’s hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Another squeeze and Gerard finally slipped his hand out of Frank’s, picked up his carry-on, and tried to think as little as possible as he walked toward the queue.

Frank hung around and exchanged looks with Gerard, because they lived in a chick flick now or something. Gerard didn’t care. He didn’t care what anyone else thought, or that they’d made out in the middle of JFK, or anything. He handed his ticket and passport over and forced himself not to look at Frank again until he was on the other side and had his shoes back on.

But then he found a decent gap to look through and waved to Frank, who waved back, still there, and then there was a boarding announcement for Gerard’s flight and it really was time to go.

 

“We have actually worked it out,” Gerard insisted. “Mostly. Sort of.”

Mikey didn’t look impressed.

“I’m coming back at Christmas— and I have _already bought the tickets, Mikey,_ so shut up— and then we’ll, I don’t know, you know.”

Mikey looked skeptical.

“Play it by ear?” Gerard finished. “Whenever one of us can get over, I guess.”

“This is _seriously_ a long distance relationship,” Mikey said.

“Well, _yeah..._ ”

“Frank’s really serious about relationships, Gee,” Mikey said.

“So am I!” Gerard was kind of stung. 

“Yeah, well,” Mikey said, whatever that was supposed to mean. “Just don’t hurt him, okay?”

That definitely stung. “I wouldn’t!” Gerard protested. “And anyway, shouldn’t you be on my side? Shouldn’t you be giving this talk to _him?_ ”

“Who says I didn’t?”

Gerard slumped down and crossed his arms. It was late and he was tired; he rubbed his eyes, stinging after a long day of staring at his computer screen.

“It sucks, Mikey.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he really meant it. “But it’s worth it, right?”

“I guess,” Gerard yawned. “I mean yes. Any way I can get him, yeah? But we’ve been apart more than together, obviously, and that’s kind of weird. And this whole thing would be a lot easier if one of us was filthy rich, not gonna lie.”

Mikey had been making sympathetic noises. “You should option something to a movie studio and get rich.”

Gerard snorted. “Sure, I’ll get right on that.”

Alicia moved into view over Mikey’s shoulder. “Hi Gee!”

“Hey Alicia.” They exchanged a bit of chit-chat and then Alicia apologized and said it was time for dinner. Gerard said good night and closed Skype. Frank was working tonight, he knew, so there wasn’t any point staying on.

After about half an hour of messing around online he was ready for bed. “Must be getting old,” he muttered, shutting his laptop off and hauling himself to bed. He was pretty used to talking to himself, which probably wasn’t the greatest sign.

* * *

PART 3

Frank was eating pizza, which was making Gerard regret his choice of salad for dinner. At least he couldn't smell it, too. Frank told him about the ridiculous band he was working with, and Gerard complained about DC not letting him have the guest stars he wanted.

Gerard chatted away automatically. He was feeling twitchy and distracted, buzzy under his skin. He'd maybe had a lot of coffee and not a lot of sleep. It was late, and the streets outside were dark and quiet.

Frank was licking cheese off his fingers. It was probably fake vegan cheese, which was gross, so Gerard didn't think about the cheese, just Frank's fingers and Frank's mouth, and their proximity to each other.

"Hey, Gee. Earth to Gerard! New York calling," Frank laughed. 

"Sorry," Gerard said, giving his head a quick shake. "I just..."

"You gonna be able to stay awake for a while still?"

"Um, yeah, sure."

Frank reached forward and adjusted the screen a little. He licked his lips, a little too slowly to be anything other than deliberate. "So...you wanna?"

"Huh? Oh!" Gerard's eyes widened, and his hand still in the middle of fussing with his hair. "Ye-yeah. Sure."

It was always awkward until they got going. Then it was just free porn. It would, of course, be better if it was Gerard's mouth around Frank's dick, but Gerard wasn't ever going to get tired of watching Frank jack himself off, tattooed fingers wrapped around his red, slick cock.

"God, you're gorgeous," he whispered, only peripherally aware of his own hand and his own dick. "Your fucking _hands_ Frankie..."

"Yeah?" Frank gasped. "You like that?" He took his hand off his dick and licked his fingers, one by one, before returning them and jerking off faster than before.

"Oh, fuck," Gerard groaned. He had to squeeze the base of his dick because he didn't want to come before Frank. He wanted to watch Frank, and make sure Frank got to watch him.

He actually liked this part, performing for Frank, knowing Frank was watching and enjoying the show. It wasn't lonely, with Frank watching him, eyes glazed, mouth wet, panting. The distance, the screens, didn't matter. It was just him and Frank.

Frank came, white spunk covering his tattoos and sliding around his fingers. Someday, Gerard was going to get a screenshot of that, despite Frank's threats.

Now Gerard tossed his head a little, tipping his head back and exposing his throat, wanking himself full-out now. 

He tipped his head down enough to see Frank lean toward his screen, eyes wide, mouth open. "Fuck, Gee," he whispered.

Gerard watched Frank's hand get closer, disappear as Frank put his hand on his screen. Gerard had just enough time to wonder what he was trying to touch before everything went really, really good for a few moments.

When Gerard looked back at Frank, he'd already cleaned himself up but his eyes were soft and his posture relaxed.

"You're really fucking beautiful," Frank said.

Gerard wiped his hand off and pretended he wasn't blushing. "Says _you._ God, Frank, I love watching you."

This was the worst part, the part where normally they'd kiss, loose and relaxed and warm. Well, it's what Gerard wanted to be normal, but it never really had been, for them.

It was Gerard's turn to reach out and touch the screen, brushing his fingertips over Frank's face. No kissing, no touching; that was definitely the worst part.

 

Gerard went back to Jersey for Christmas and New Year’s. It was a blur of family and Frank— that was the good part— and too many people and jet lag and a cold caught on the plane, which was the bad part.

Frank wore his ridiculous pink cracker crown for days, and Gerard met Frank’s dog _and_ his mom. It all went by _really_ fast and there wasn’t enough of anything. But Frank said that since January and February were really slow for him, he’d take time off and come visit Gerard. So Gerard helped him pick out dates in February and then left himself a million notes to work ahead so he could actually spend time with Frank when he was there.

* * *

It took Frank about ten minutes to decide Newark was even worse than JFK, which was kind of an achievement. Jersey, man.

Luckily, Frank didn't really care. He was going back to _England,_ he was going to see his fucking _boyfriend_. Even the TSA couldn't kill his mood. Hell, his mouth and cheeks were still a little sore from getting his teeth pulled last week, but even that wasn't bothering him much. The dentist had warned him he might feel extra pain at takeoff and landing, so Frank had packed some extra-strength Motrin sinus pills in his carry on. He wasn't worried. He'd grown up in mosh pits when he wasn't sick in bed; he could take a little sinus pressure.

By the time the plane landed, Frank had completely changed his tune. He'd long since taken the Motrin and everything else the concerned stewardesses had been able to dig up for him. He pretty much wanted to claw his face off, to reach in and pull out the sinuses or whatever that was aching so bad. His head felt like it had turned into one giant pulse of pain and like that was all Frank was. He felt nauseous and shaky, too cold and too hot by turns. It wasn't the worst pain he'd ever felt, exactly, but there was something about being stuck on a plane that made it all ten times worse.

Landing felt like his brain trying to squash itself out his ears. He wished it would. As much as Frank wanted to get off the plane, he didn't feel up to fighting through crowded aisles. He had a window seat anyway, so it was easy to stay curled up under the blanket, trying to get his head to stop spinning, ignoring the anxious looks from his seat mates. He'd already told them it wasn't contagious, but they didn't look convinced.

"Do you want a wheelchair, sir?" one of the stewardesses, a woman about the age of Frank's mom, asked. "Or a doctor?"

"No," Frank said, mumbling because it hurt to move his mouth. "I'll be fine now." He wasn't going to be any such thing, but he couldn't stand the idea of creating a huge spectacle, either. Heathrow...okay, it _was_ that big, but at least it didn't have too many super long terminals to walk down. And he wasn't sure that a medical escort would get him through customs. They'd probably send him right back, and Frank just could not deal with another flight right now.

The lines at passport control were dying out by the time he finally dragged himself off the plane. The immigration guy did give him a concerned once-over.

"Are you ill?"

"Sinus infection," Frank said. "The flight over..."

The man looked a little relieved, but he still had a million questions. Why was Frank traveling to the UK ("personal reasons"), where was he staying ("with my boyfriend"), when was he leaving ("next Sunday"). The man seemed a little more willing to let Frank in with the visiting-my-boyfriend explanation, and all they really cared about was that he planned to leave again, but it was still felt like it took forever and was a whole other layer of stress Frank did not need to deal with right now.

He finally got his passport stamped. If Frank had had any energy he might have run past the desk, but it was all he could to do drag himself and his bag along. At least his suitcase was sitting next to the belt already and Frank didn't have to try and pick it up. Then there was the unholy amount of duty-free bullshit to get through, and then finally those fucking big doors again.

This time, Gerard was pressed against the barrier, looking anxiously at his phone. His hair was back to black. It took him a minute to look up and see Frank, but when he did his whole face lit up. "Frankie! There you are, Christ! That took forever! I was worried."

Frank tried to smile but his face hurt. He ended up just making for the nearest gap and collapsing against Gerard with a whine.

"Frank?" Gerard smoothed Frank's hair off his forehead. "Fuck, you're burning up! Are you okay? What happened?"

"Can I sit down?" Frank felt kind of woozy. A lot woozy.

Gerard swore, earning a few scandalized looks, and led him over to the Costa Coffee. The iced mocha Gerard bought him tasted good, or at least soothingly cool in Frank's mouth.

"You're really sick," Gerard said.

Frank lightly pressed the sweating cup to his cheek. "Not sick." He explained, in short sentences, about his sinuses trying to kill him on the flight over. Somehow Frank had forgotten to tell Gerard about the trip to the dentist, probably because they'd both been working so much in the past week, trying to get ready for this, that they'd barely talked.

"Yeah, but you feel really warm now." Gerard put his hand on Frank's forehead, which was totally embarrassing, but Frank couldn't bring himself to move enough to shake him off.

"You need to go to the doctor," Gerard said.

Frank winced, and then winced again when it hurt. "I'll be fine. Once I've rested."

Gerard didn't look convinced, but he said, "Let's go get a taxi then. No way are you going on the trains like this."

They didn't take a black cab but a minicab, which to Frank seemed like just some guy with a car, but Gerard seemed to think it was fine. It was a long ass drive to where Gerard lived in the north of London, but the car was better than the plane, and Frank got to doze against Gerard's shoulder, under his arm, which was better still.

Frank's face was still throbbing and things were pretty much a blur as Gerard wrangled Frank's bags and Frank up seemingly endless flights of stairs. Seriously, what did Britain have against elevators?

"Okay," Gerard said. "Peas and Nurofen for you." Frank was too exhausted to deal with crazy ass statements like that, so he let Gerard put him to bed and swallowed the pills Gerard offered.

"Sorry," Frank mumbled, before finally falling asleep. When he'd envisioned falling into bed as soon as he got to London, it hadn't been with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel on his face.

Gerard poked him awake after what felt like 30 seconds. Frank seriously contemplated punching him. "What?"

"I need you describe your pain and symptoms," Gerard said. That was when Frank noticed Gerard was holding a phone to his ear. He also noticed the peas weren't exactly cold anymore, so Gerard must have let him sleep at least a while.

He peeled the bag off his face. "Who are you talking to?"

For some reason he was expecting Mikey, so it threw him when Gerard answered "The NHS nurse line. Here, she wants to talk to you."

Frank held the phone to the side of his face that hurt less and answered her questions as best he could. She clucked and told him to go see a doctor, that he might have a serious sinus issue and an infection.

By the time he hung up, Gerard was back with another bag of frozen veggies, and he forced Frank to admit he was supposed to go to the doctor.

"I didn't get travel insurance," Frank admitted. "And my health insurance is pretty shitty. I have no idea if they'll cover me."

Gerard groaned. "I know," Frank said, feeling grumpy and like Gerard had no right to groan. "But I kind of didn't think we'd be leaving the apartment much, you know?"

"80% of accidents happen in the home," Gerard said automatically, but then he bit his lip and petted Frank's hair a little. "You must go to the dentist, Frank, you can't go on like this."

"I can't afford that," Frank admitted, which sucked all around.

"It's not going to be as expensive as it is in the US, Frank," Gerard said, coaxing. "It's not gonna be like thousands of dollars. I think."

Frank leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Can we wait until tomorrow, at least? It might get better."

Gerard hemmed at him but finally agreed to that. "Are you hungry? I kind of planned on going out tonight, and obviously you're not up to that, but I don't have much in. Um, do you want...beans on toast?"

Gerard laughed at Frank's expression. "I know! But it's not bad, once you get used to it! And it's vegan." Gerard was smug. "Or maybe eggs, so you don't have to chew much?"

Frank finally agreed to eggs, and Gerard came back with eggs and mushy peas for Frank, and beans on toast for himself.

"Gross," Frank said.

"You don't know, Mr. Judgmental American."

This was better, this was a bit more normal. Whatever pills Gerard was giving Frank had a kick to them and actually helped. 

Frank slept again, unintentionally, after their snack. When he woke up he could hear Gerard and Mikey talking, and for a long few minutes he was really confused about where he was.

Frank shuffled out to the living room, where Gerard was on Skype with Mikey. "Oh hey, there he is!" Gerard beamed at him. "How are you feeling?"

Frank groaned and flapped his hand around, and Gerard's hopeful smile faded. Frank joined Gerard on the sofa and blinked at Mikey. Standing up and sitting down hurt, and Frank reminded himself not to do them anymore.

"You look like shit," Mikey said.

Frank wanted to say "So it's like looking in a mirror?" but that seemed like a lot of words. So he just flipped Mikey off and slumped against Gerard.

"Wow," Mikey said. "It's actually shut him up. He must be in pain."

"I was asking Mikey about your health insurance," Gerard said. "Since you have the same one."

"Not that he remembered that on his own. He was gonna have me rifle your apartment."

"Is that important, Mikey?"

"And then I got treated to a big lecture on the benefits of socialized medicine," Mikey said. "Which I already knew, thanks."

Gerard huffed. Frank smiled to himself. _Ways._

"Are you gonna come home?" Mikey asked. "What are you going to do?"

Gerard curled an arm across Frank's shoulders. "He can't go home! He just got here!"

"Gee," Mikey frowned. "If he has to come here to go to the doctor, than he has to come here."

"I really don't want to get on a plane again," Frank said. Gerard squeezed his shoulder.

"Well," Mikey said. "I guess there's always Gerard's ridiculous Plan B."

Gerard glared at Mikey but wouldn't talk until Frank shoved an elbow in his side.

"Well," Gerard said, paying a lot of attention to some lint on his other side, "I could try and get you declared my domestic partner, but I'm pretty sure it would take a while. And also involve lying. To the government. And, like, the Queen."

 _Not my government,_ Frank thought, but it was too much work to say. And it seemed like the kind of thing that would get Gerard deported, which Frank didn't want to happen, even if it did mean Gerard would have to come live with him.

(And also— not that Frank would admit this as a real reason even to himself— it was the least romantic proposal ever, and Frank wanted to hold out for something better. There was a reason he had _Hopeless Romantic_ tattooed on his hands.)

They talked— meaning, mostly Gerard and Mikey talked— for a few minutes. Mikey had to go and Gerard wanted to run out to the shops, so Frank went back to bed. 

Gerard came back with more Nurofen Plus and carrot soup, which they ate sitting on Gerard's bed. Frank lay down when he was done, and Gerard gently stroked the side of his face that wasn't so bad.

"You're hot," Gerard said.

"You know it," Frank said, and tried to leer, but Gerard just frowned.

"If your fever doesn't go down tomorrow..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Frank sighed. "Doctor."

Gerard continued stroking Frank's face lightly, which was actually nice and comforting. Frank turned into his hand a little.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Frank sighed. “This is fucked up. I can barely even move my head. I can’t do anything. This is totally ruined.”

“Frank, no. Shut up. It’s not ruined. I mean, yeah, I’m pissed you’re in _pain,_ but I’m still glad to see you. Still really glad you’re here.”

Gerard lay down next to him and brushed his mouth lightly across Frank's cheek, his eyelid, his eyebrow, his forehead. It was nice. More than nice.

"I missed you," Frank said, which is something he thought he'd say hours ago.

"I missed you too," Gerard said. "And I'm glad you're here. Always."

 

Gerard did make Frank go to a dentist the next day. The dentist poked around and took x-rays and gave him a beautiful shot of Novocain just to give him some relief. Frank tried not to think about how much it cost and to just enjoy not feeling pain for a few hours. Then she told him the wall of his sinus had gotten cracked in the tooth extraction and now it was infected.

Frank could either have repair surgery here without insurance, or wait until he went home. It wasn't really a choice. Frank got a couple of prescriptions, for antibiotics and painkillers, and went back to Gerard's to curl up in something that wasn't quite misery. He promised Gerard he'd be fine for the week, as long as he took it easy.

They stayed in Gerard’s bed and Gerard made them watch, like, eight million episodes of _Doctor Who_ and pretty much everything else on BBC iPlayer.

The antibiotics and painkillers did have an impact, and Frank could eat kind of normally after a few days. Kissing was still right out, since Frank didn't want to subject Gerard to his crazy mouth germs. Blowjobs were definitely out. Gerard offered to blow him, but Frank felt guilty he couldn't reciprocate in turn. They did manage to squeeze in a few handjobs toward the end of the week, when Frank could move his head without wanting to tear it off. He even got to talk on the phone to Grant Morrison, which was some trippy shit.

They got a little stir-crazy by the weekend and decided it would be a good idea to dye Gerard's hair. Well, they bleached it anyway, and then Frank had to go lie down when the bleach interacted weirdly with his messed up sinus. Gerard's hair came out kind of orange after he got focused on helping Frank and forgot to time it, but he didn't seem to mind.

It was _fun,_ but it wasn't what either of them had been expecting out of this week. Frank knew it wasn't his fault but he felt guilty anyway: for picking a shit dentist, for getting work done so close to leaving, for not living a reasonable distance from his boyfriend. He told Gerard the painkillers were making him loopy when he got stupidly maudlin.

The week went by too fast even if they were mostly housebound. It felt like hardly anything happened, and Frank thought he wouldn't blame Gerard for dumping him. 

Not that Gerard did, of course— he'd been really patient, and nursed Frank well. "Well, we should have better luck next time," Gerard said, on the way back to the airport. "I mean, what else can happen?"

"Don't even say it," Frank groaned. "I'm really sorry this sucked, Gee. This wasn't how I wanted this week to go."

"Shut up already," Gerard said, squeezing his hand. "You know I just wanted to see you."

Frank leaned his head back. "This long distance thing sucks." It came out more bitter than he meant it to, but dammit, he was frustrated.

Gerard's hand tightened on his. "How much does it suck?"

Frank winced. "Not that much." He squeezed Gerard's hand. He wished he'd kept his damn mouth shut. "Don't be freaked out."

"Okay," said Gerard, who was totally freaked out.

"It would be a lot better if I wasn't such a delicate flower." Gerard smiled a little at that, but Frank had totally fucked everything up, _again._

He couldn't even kiss the hell out of Gerard at the airport like he usually did. He huddled with Gerard outside security, snuggling a little.

"I don't want to get on the plane," Frank said. He had a bunch of prescription painkillers for the ride, so it wouldn't be as bad as the flight over. Probably.

"Mikey and Alicia will pick you up at Newark," Gerard babbled. His voice went a quieter as he said "You can stay here with me if you want, you know. Any time." He kissed Frank's forehead.

"I do want," he said. "But I can't really put this off any more." They weren't quite talking about the same thing, but Frank didn't think there was any point in talking through all that again.

He kissed Gerard softly, leaving their mouths resting together for a long time.

* * *

"And how is your Mr. Iero?"

Gerard wasn't sure if he should be annoyed at Grant for asking, or grateful for the chance to talk about it. "I haven't actually talked to him in a while," Gerard said, barely remembering to stop biting his nails before speaking. "Just a few quick emails. He's been really busy, and I guess I have too, but I'm not even sure what he's working on. Not the band, or Mikey would have said something." Gerard sighed and tugged at his hair. "I don't know what to think. It's almost at the point where I don't want to talk to him because I'm afraid of what he'll say."

"Mmmmmh," Grant said, low and comforting in his ear. "And what would your ideal solution be, then?"

"To the lack-of-talking thing? Or the long distance-in-general thing?"

"Either/or."

"I want him to come here," Gerard admitted. "But that's not fair, and I really don't want to Yoko their band, either. I mean, it's Mikey's band too! And I like them all, and...that's just no kind of solution or anything that should happen."

Grant laughed, rather a lot.

"Stop picturing me as Yoko Ono!" Gerard said.

"Too late! You already have the sunglasses."

"Unhelpful."

"Sorry, sorry," Grant said, not sounding at all sorry of course. "Well, Gerard, this may be the time for grand romantic gestures."

"Grand romantic gestures? Like... fly to New York?"

"For example."

"Will that work? God, what if he wants to break up with me and I fly to New York and it's really, horribly awkward?"

"It always works in films?"

"So unhelpful."

Gerard did start looking at airfares as soon as he hung up though. Just to look. It was fucking impossible to get anything under £700 for less than a month ahead. Gerard supposed it wouldn't be a _grand_ romantic gesture if it wasn't expensive.

 

Gerard almost couldn't believe it when he saw Frank's name highlighted in Skype. Gerard hesitated, hovering the mouse over Frank's name. What if he'd just left his computer on? What if Gerard didn't want to hear what Frank had to say?

Before he could get any further in his doom spiral, Frank was calling him.

"Hey!" Frank looked tired but his grin was huge, and Gerard's smile was inevitable.

"Hey yourself, stranger."

Frank was still really smiley, which kept Gerard smiling, and he was starting to relax. "I missed you," Gerard added.

"Me too." Frank rearranged himself in his chair a little. He was excited, Gerard realized. 

"So...how has everything been going?" Gerard still couldn't quite stop his urge to control the conversation.

"Crazy. I'm so sorry I haven't been around." Frank looked him right in the eyes, or what passed for that via computer. "I really have missed you, but I've been putting in a ton of overtime on this big project. But it's pretty much set up now."

"Oh great," Gerard said. "So...you'll be around more?"

Frank's mouth twitched. "Aren't you going to ask me what it was, Gee?"

"What was it?"

Frank fidgeted in his seat again. His expression couldn't settle between smug and excited. "I've been hashing out the details of a partnership between our label and one based in Camden."

"Oh?" Trust Frank to be excited about going _more_ Jersey. But now Frank was looking at Gerard like Gerard was a not very bright puppy. "In Jersey?" Gerard added.

"No," Frank said. 

They stared at each other for a moment before Gerard said, afraid to hope, "In _London?_ "

Frank grinned, and bounced in his chair. "Fuck yes in London, Gee."

Gerard wrapped his hands around the edge of the sofa cushion, holding on tight. "Does that mean—what does that mean?" He was pretty sure he was making a stupid face. He didn't care. 

"Okay," Frank took a deep breath. "It doesn't mean I'm moving over there full time or anything. I've still got the band, after all."

"Right."

"But...it does mean I can spend a lot more time over there. Maybe...okay, so I was thinking, right, that flying back and forth blows for everyone but neither of us want to give up and move entirely, right, so maybe we could split the difference? Or split custody— I don't know, that's just how I was thinking of it—"

"Frank?"

"Right, sorry, okay, yeah. Would you be willing to spend half the year in New York if I spent half the year in London?"

"Yes."

"Because I was thinking, I mean, it wouldn't have to be a strict split or whatever, we could adjust it as things came up or— did you say yes?"

"Yes, Frank. I said yes. I was always going to say yes." Gerard's fingers were biting into the sofa cushions now.

"You...oh." Frank didn't seem quite able to stop his nervous babbling, his mouth still working even with no sound coming out.

"Frankie," Gerard said, "Splitting cities with you would be quite all right." How very British of him, but it was either stiff upper lip or explode all over the living room. "I guess it really was the time for grand romantic gestures," he murmured. Thank god one of them was on the ball.

Frank was smiling, beaming, and Gerard had never wanted to do anything more in his life than smile back at him.

* * *

EPILOGUE

The stage was small and crooked and where the boards weren't gaping they were sticky with beer. They were in a shitty dark club in Camden and there was a picture of the Clash on the wall. Frank felt right at home.

"Good evening, motherfuckers!" Frank shouted into the mic. "We are New London Fire and we've come to burn your city down!"

James Dewees, who they'd conned into this European tour, counted them in, and then Ray and Mikey thrashed in like the wrath of God and Frank started screaming along.

 

After the show there was Gerard guarding a table full of beer for them. When he went outside with Frank for a smoke, Frank pushed him up against the wall and snogged him until Gerard was almost as sweaty as Frank was.

"So I was thinking," Gerard said. He curled his fingers in Frank's waistband and rocked their hips together. He was speaking right in Frank's ear, and now followed up the hot bursts of breath with a delicate tongue. "How much do you really want to go to Jersey for Christmas?"

Gerard was a filthy cheater, and Frank pulled back so Gerard couldn't keep licking his ear while he asked questions and so he could see Gerard's face. "Is this about _Doctor Who?_ "

"No," Gerard lied, with only a tiny flicker.

"Fine," Frank sighed. "We'll get a Slingbox."

"Okay," Gerard said. "It was a _little_ bit about _Doctor Who_. Ten percent. But also the Morrisons asked us up for Hogmanay."

"Dude," Frank said, after he took a moment to process that.

"This is what I'm saying." Gerard leaned back far enough to light another cigarette. "Well, think about it, anyway. You did good tonight, baby." He kissed Frank again, mostly on the cheek but partly on the mouth, gave Frank the remains of his smoke, and sashayed back into the club. And sashayed was the word for it, too.

"Skank!" Frank called after him, then leaned against the wall to finish the fag— because Frank was so not bored with calling them that yet— even though it was starting to rain, just a little. He debated how pissed his mom would be, and how much he could blame on Gerard. 

He'd spent a lot of Christmases at home, Frank thought, blowing a last cloud of smoke into the damp, dark London sky. Some things were just not to be missed.


End file.
